What's Left
by MaverickLaurie
Summary: Post Reichenbach, my view of how Sherlock's return would be like. Sherlock arrives at the doorstep of 221B on a wet November night injured and it's up to John to fix Sherlock again. The question is will he be able to this time? John/Sherlock BROMANCE. No Slash, just lots of strong bromance.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Now What?

Pain.

This was the first thing Doctor John Watson felt when he woke up each morning. The feeling of emptiness and nothingness clouded his mind.

What now? He often asked himself this question. Sherlock's been gone for what? A year now and that picture of blood all over his best friend's expressionless face was still so vividly engraved in his mind. Everyday John spoke to him, or at least he think he did and everyday he had hoped for a reply.

"Hope." He told himself.

Hope was something Doctor John Watson was running out of.

Every morning he goes to get breakfast, breakfast for two, sometimes he would even bring flowers. Today it was Tea, one without sugar and two sandwiches. He settled himself on the stone floor, his back against the stone tablet. He left the sugarless cup and one of the sandwiches, the one with ham in front of the tablet and began eating his own share. His enjoyed mornings like these, having breakfast with Sherlock, filling him in on recent events, rising crime rates that sort of thing. His arm would be slung across the marble tablet, legs stretched out. He would finish his meal before leaving for work never forgetting to take some time dusting and cleaning Sherlock's tombstone.

His days went by slowly. Dull. They were usually common household illnesses and paranoid parents. He missed those cases, the feeling of adrenaline running through his veins. He had stopped blogging simply because there was nothing to blog about and it hurt him to physically visit that website, all the adventures now just a documented part of his memory. A nurse working in the same clinic as him by the name of Mary had asked him out to dinner once, he didn't know if he could trust her, he didn't dislike her in fact she didn't mind her one bit. If Sherlock was here he would read her like an open book within seconds. He declined dinner giving the lousy excuse of feeling unwell and left work choosing to order take out watching medical soap dramas at home snuggled in his chair.

He always had problem falling asleep and when he finally slept he would be haunted with nightmares of the war or of Sherlock forcing his tired mind out of that peaceful slumber. Sometimes he wished he would just fall asleep and never wakeup. Tonight he decided he would be falling asleep with the aid of sleeping pills. Sleeping pills was something John had been taking at an increasing rate, it was not healthy but he didn't care, not anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: What's in a miracle?

John found himself awake this time not because of the nightmares but because of this slow persistent knocking on his door. He rubbed his eyes as he got off the bed, yawning as he twisted the door knob.

What happened next was something he never prepared himself for.

A body slumped onto John, he smelled like sweat, rain and blood. The man had a strong physique beneath the trembling. His breathing was shallow and labored… barely noticeable. He was murmuring something but John could make nothing of it. John, feeling the full weight of the man on him, with much difficulty dragged the shaking and wet body onto the sofa. He took a step back taking in the scene. He couldn't quite make out who this man was with all the dirty curls covering his face. Curls. John's eyes widened as he came to realize who this man was.

Sherlock.

This man lying on the sofa, half dead is Sherlock. He knelt on the soft carpet, brushing away the locks of hair and dirt revealing the man's face. Indeed, it was Sherlock, his eyes shut and face tensed from pain. He was dressed in a white tank top in rugged blue jeans and boots… way too little for November in London, plus it was raining that night. John had no idea how Sherlock got here or how he is even alive. He saw his friend lying dead on the pavement, blood streaming endlessly onto his face, he had no pulse. He remembered clearly, he took his pulse and there wasn't one. John was very confused, questions filled his mind and a wave of emotion overwhelmed him. He stood staring at this shell of a man before him barely alive on the sofa.

"Sherlock" John began, holding back tears.

"Sherlock, can you hear me?"

"ye…yess" was all Sherlock could reply, his eyes squeezed tighter.

"Hang on, I'm going to clean you up, hang in there." John replied before getting up towards the kitchen. He grabbed a small pail and filled it with lukewarm water and soaked a towel in it, stopping to dim the lights hoping to soothe Sherlock's eyes. He was kneeling on the carpet again, he wrung the towel and wearily began cleaning the dirt off. Sherlock flinched at the touch. He looked so fragile, so vulnerable…

"Hey it's okay I'm just going to wipe the dirt off, make you more comfortable and check your wounds, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." John replied gently.

Sherlock visibly relaxed at his voice and let John clean his face. After John wiped the dirt and dried blood off, a huge gash across his face beginning from his right temple and ending at his cheek was revealed. John frowned at it making a mental note to remember to check if Sherlock has a concussion. He dipped the towel back into the pail and wrung it once more, the water in the pail turning brown. John took out the towel putting it between his fingers intending on cleaning Sherlock's body. He looked up. The hazel brown met the electric blue.

"John" Sherlock said, his voice sounding hoarse from lack of use.

"Sherlock" was all John could manage before tears streamed down his face.

"I'm…I'm so sorry"

John didn't know how to reply to this but except stare, his mind was reduced to a hollow shell.

"Um… let's not talk about this now, I need to get you out of this shirt and into some proper clothes, can you sit up?" John finally replied.

Sherlock struggled grasping his side, his breathing hitched. John slipped his arm under Sherlock's armpit pulling him to a sitting position, head propped up against the union jack cushion. John gently removed Sherlock's shirt careful to make sure he doesn't aggravate his wounds, this only revealed Sherlock's naked, broken and battered chest. Bruises painted Sherlock's pale chest blue-black. He was sure there were broken ribs, there were lashes everywhere his body some quite recent and some old. The worse was a poorly stitched gunshot wound below his right shoulder, it looked infected and there was fluid seeping out of it.

"Jesus Sherlock, what the hell happened?"

"I…I'm sorry" Sherlock's eyes were beginning to water now.

John looked at him, sighed and said "Be right back, I'm just going to grab the first aid kit."

_John's disappointed… you're a disappointment, you shouldn't have come back._

The first aid kit was tucked under Sherlock's bed, dusty from lack of use ever since Sherlock was gone. He had patched Sherlock up before, usually because Sherlock was not careful while on a case or got into a scuffle. But this time is different, this time is big. He opened it and saw that there were enough materials to roughly clean and patch the wounds up before turning around, making his way back towards the living room.

Sherlock's eyes were closed again. John's doctor mode was on and he cleared his throat softly before setting a chair opposite Sherlock, getting ready to clean and dress his wounds. He began by cleaning off the congealed blood on his chest with the wet towel, he would love to give Sherlock a bath but that would have to wait. He reached into the kit and took out a small bottle of gel labelled 'Arnica" and untwisted the bottle, he dug the spatula into the bottle scooping up a greenish black gel before applying a thick layer onto Sherlock's bruises resulting in Sherlock flinching at the sudden cooling sensation. He let the gel set, moving on to the other wounds. He removed the blood-stained stitches below his shoulder and began to examine it. John was going to have to drain it to prevent the infection from spreading. This was going to hurt. Sherlock's eyebrows knitted as John began draining the wound as quickly as possible before applying the antiseptic solution onto and around the wound letting some of it seep into his wound burning the already injured flesh.

"It'll be over soon, just hang in there." John comforted upon seeing Sherlock's pained face.

John quickly finished up before stitching it back with a fresh set of stitches finally bandaging it to prevent Sherlock from ripping them out. He then went back to the broken ribs taping them up, tight enough to prevent them from aggravating but not too tight not wanting to affect Sherlock's already labored breathing. He then proceeded to clean and plaster the remaining lashes on Sherlock's chest, he was thankful that none of them were too serious to require stitching. John left to get Sherlock a new shirt and sleeping pants returning shortly to find Sherlock fiddling with the bandage below his shoulder.

"If you fiddle with that and rip your stitches it's going to be another painful round of disinfecting." John warned.

Sherlock stopped and lifted his head up looking at John, his face pale and expressionless.

"I need to get that gash on your head checked out, and your ankle looks bad." John said shifting his eyes to the ankle that was twisted at an awkward angle.

"But first let's change your clothes so you smell less like Hyde Park." John said attempting to lift the mood but only received a blank stare from Sherlock.

After ten minutes of getting Sherlock out of that wet pair of pants, into some new underwear and trousers he knelt to the floor beside the twisted ankle. He was thankful that it was twisted and not broken but it also meant that he'll half to pop it back in, and he hasn't done that in years.

"Okay this needs to go back in." John told Sherlock pointing to the ankle.

"I'll count to three. It'll be over real quick."

Sherlock took a deep and hitched breath, grabbing the cushion tight, his knuckles turning white.

"One…Two.."

POP!

"You said three!" Sherlock cried, fresh tears streaming down his face.

"Three." John replied, standing up taking a seat besides Sherlock.

Sherlock smelled John's familiar scent.

_Still using Hugo Boss_

Sherlock thought to himself.

After examining the gash John concluded that Sherlock was suffering from a mild concussion, not bad enough to leave any serious repercussions, just one hell of a headache.

"This, it going to leave you with a headache for quite some time." John said pointing to the gash.

"I want to move you to the room so you can get some rest, come on." John said slipping his arm under Sherlock's armpit again, slowly pulling him to a stand.

The short trip to the room was difficult and painful, for both of them. Despite Sherlock's malnutrition, he still weighed a hefty amount. By the time they reached the bed, a thin sheen of sweat formed on Sherlock's forehead, both were panting. Sherlock's breathing was still uneven, John deduced that it was due to the pain and left to get him some pain medication. He came back with a tiny syringe and a bottle of tiny white pills to find Sherlock hunched over, trying desperately to catch his breath.

"Sherlock lie down." John said gently lowering Sherlock onto the bed tucking him under the duvet.

"This is a mild pain medication and sedative to help you sleep." John said lifting the syringe up

"While this should help with the headache." John said again lifting the bottle up. He gently inserted the syringe into Sherlock's vein. The transparent fluid flowing into Sherlock's bloodstream.

"Don't go…" Sherlock begged.

"I'm not going anywhere, rest now, I'll be here when you wake." John smiled as Sherlock's eyelids drooped slowly.

"Tha…thank you… for being my doctor… John." Sherlock murmured before the sleep took him in, his eyes now completely closed.

"I'll always be your doctor Sherlock, good night." John said, a smile forming on his face.

John spent the next hour in the chair he moved into the room, contented just staring at the slow but steady rise and fall of his best friend's chest.

* * *

This chapter's a little longer... I am physically incapable of writing long chapters so sorry! There's more to come, trying to update regularly. Do leave me reviews on how I can improve and ideas on how you guys want the story to be like. I have chapter 3 written out I just need to edit it :D MORE COMING SOON!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Fever

At some point John drifted off into sleep, only to be woken up another nightmare, a nightmare of Sherlock screaming in pain after finding him on the rooftop of St Bart's a gunshot wound to the shoulder… No it sounded too real. Another scream ringed in John's ears jerking him awake, his eyes snapped open only to see Sherlock's flailing his arms, gasping for air, his eyes still sealed shut. Nightmare. John rushed to his side, joining him on the bed, kneeling cradling Sherlock's head in his palms, to prevent him from aggravating the concussion.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! It's okay, it's only a nightmare! You're here safe in Baker Street!" John comforted.

"Nnnoo…lying…Jjawn dead… hurts."

"I'm here Sherlock, John's here. Just open your eyes, trust me!"

Sherlock's eyes finally opened. The wild unfocused blue met the calming hazel brown, Sherlock bolted up wrapping his arms around John, tight, resting his head on John's shoulder.

"It's okay, everything's okay now Sherlock, it was just a nightmare." John reassured, hugging back stroking Sherlock's back. Sherlock's breathing still way to fast.

"I need you to slowly even out your breathing, try to follow my breathing, deep breaths."

"Inhale… Exhale… Inhale… Exhale"

Sherlock tried his best to follow, taking deeper breaths rather than the shallow ragged ones earlier on.

"I dreamt that Moriarty killed you and I wasn't able to stop him… John you died!" Sherlock wailed unable to hold back tears anymore. John could feel that Sherlock was crying, his jumper beginning to moisten.

"No one's going to hurt you anymore, Moriarty's dead he's certainly not going to harm me and I don't plan on going anywhere." John said still stroking Sherlock's back noticing that he's body temperature's a little too warm for liking.

"Sherlock I think you're running a fever, let me take your temperature" John said attempting to unwrap himself from Sherlock but with no avail.

"Don't go…please." Sherlock croaked. John contemplated and finally said

"Okay, but if this fever gets worst I'm going to have to give you something for it." John relented, hoping it wasn't a fever caused by the infection. John felt Sherlock's now even breathing against his chest and Sherlock felt John's steady strong heartbeat, slowly falling back asleep, body resting on John. Both remained in that position until John's leg which was folded in became too numb. He rested Sherlock back onto the bed, cradling his head gently resting it onto the pillow, choosing to not tuck Sherlock in fearing his temperature would rise. He turned about climbing off the bed slowly and shook his leg to restore the blood circulation faster before proceeding to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water, some fever medication and a thermometer before heading back into the room once again.

He set the items on the bedside table telling himself he'll give it to Sherlock the next time he wakes. He was exhausted and he smelt like a mixture of sweat and cologne, he decided to go for a quick shower before returning to Sherlock's side.

John emerged out of the steaming bathroom, towel slung over his head, he felt refreshed and replayed tonight's events in his head. Tonight was much more interesting compared to the other mundane days of going to work. Work. He had been so caught up with Sherlock's return he didn't go for work today, he dashed into the living room grabbed his phone and dialed it.

_Ring…Ring…..Ring….Ri-_

"Mary Morstan who is this?" the voice over the phone buzzed.

"Mary! Great, its John calling from the house phone, I'm so so sorry I didn't turn up for work today I had a personal matter to attend to, I would also like to apply leave for the next two weeks would that be okay?"

"John, is everything okay?"

John hesitated before saying "Yeah, everything's fine I just have some things to clear up, and would need some time off… I know this is very last minute but I really need these two weeks."

…

"Yeah, yeah of course, I'll get someone to fill in for you for the next two weeks. Hey, if you need anything just call me alright?" Mary finally replied.

"Yes, I will. Thank you so much Mary. Goodbye." John replied gratefully.

John hung up the phone and went to the kitchen making himself a hot cup of coffee before going back into the bedroom. He was relieved to see Sherlock still asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly. John settled himself back in the chair and resumed staring at Sherlock, his mind racing with questions that desperately needed answers.

_I saw him fall off that roof… I saw the blood… I took his pulse. _

_How is he still alive?_

_What happened to him?_

_Did Moriarty do this?_

_How did he even get back here? Did he walk?_

_Does Mycroft know what's happening?_

_He's back and your wish has been granted. You should be happy._

_Can I fix him?_

John felt conflicted and mostly confused, he didn't know what to do and felt so helpless. All he could do was to be there for Sherlock and for him to pull through and recover. Hope again. John really needed hope to be on his side this time. John let his tired body fall into a deep slumber.

John awoke not knowing how long he had slept, except it must have been quite long, his leg was numb and his neck ached. He blinked a few times and yawned shifting his glance to the empty bed. The bed was empty, where was Sherlock? John bolted up from the chair his eyes alert and wild. John glanced at the clock, _10.30am_. John slept for 9 hours.

"Shit! Sherlock! Sherlock where are you?" John exclaimed.

There was no reply.

"Sherlock! Oh my god… Sherlock!" John continued, his voice bouncing off the walls.

John stopped at the corridor finding the toilet door ajar. He approached with caution, pushing the toilet door back until it hit something with a thud sound.

"Sherlock?"

John found Sherlock behind the door, body against the wall in an awkward position.

"Jesus, Sherlock what are you doing here?" John said as he kneeled down beside the unconscious Sherlock. John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gently squeezed it, eliciting a groan from Sherlock.

"Hhurts…"

"What hurts Sherlock?"

"Everything."

John gently put the back of his hand on Sherlock's forehead, it was even hotter than before, this was not good at all. John slipped his arms under Sherlock's armpits attempting to lift him up, this only made things worse. Sherlock flailed his arms around, a scream escaping his throat.

"No, don't touch me! No Moriarty, please no I beg you please." Sherlock cried.

"Moriarty what? Sherlock its John you are at Baker Street, there's no Moriarty, you are safe." John said.

Sherlock's eyes tried focusing on John's.

"John! John please don't let Moriarty take me away again… please." Sherlock begged.

"Shhhh…shhh Moriarty's not going to hurt you, Sherlock you are safe."

"Everything hurts John…"

"I know… I know. It's the fever alright, everything's alright. Come on, let's get you up and back into bed alright?"

"Ye…yeah" Sherlock replied, attempting to lift himself off the tiled floor with no luck.

"I got you, lean on me." John said, pushing Sherlock's body onto his.

They made it back into the bedroom in one piece but barely holding it together. Sherlock was back in bed and John coaxed him into taking the fever medication, he laid beside Sherlock, patting him until he fell back asleep. This is not good, Sherlock's never going to make it like this and John knew that. He got off the bed, picked up the phone and dialed.

"John?" The voice said.

"Oh my goodness, Mary, yes, I really really need your help could you do me a big favor please?" John asked.

"What favor John? Is everything okay?"

"No, not exactly… I need you to bring over a few bags of saline for a drip, I also need pain medication, preferably not an opiate and some clean dressings from the clinic."

"John are you okay?"

"Yeah it's not me, I'm fine. Could you bring it over and I'll explain when you get here…please?"

"…"

"Yeah… okay I'll bring them over now, 221B Baker Street right? ETA 1hour." Mary said.

"Oh great! Thank you so much Mary, see you!" John exclaimed before hanging up the phone. Thank god for Mary he thought to himself going back into the room to rejoin Sherlock.

About an hour later, John looked at the clock telling himself Mary would arrive anytime soon, just then,

_Buzz…Buzzzzzzzz_

John rushed to the door at the sound of the doorbell ringing. He opened the door and was glad to see Mary, medical bag in hand.

"Mary thank god! You are so punctual, come up stairs."

"John you haven't told me what's happening yet." Mary said as she ascended up the wooden stairs into the apartment.

"Help me set the stand please."

"John! What's going on?" Mary said grabbing his arm.

"Take a peek." John said gesturing towards the room.

Mary craned her neck and saw Sherlock's still form under the sheets.

"That's your personal problem?" Mary joked.

"Haha… yeah, collapsed at my doorstep two nights ago in a tank and jeans drenched in rain and sweat after thinking he was dead for a year."

"Wait. Wait. That's Sherlock Holmes?" Mary said disbelievingly.

"Yup."

"But I thought you said he jumped off a roof?"

"I thought so too… I have so many unanswered questions, he's too out of it for questions now. The fever's messing with his mind and he's extremely dehydrated."

"I see, okay let's get all these stuff into the room." Mary said taking the medical bag venturing into the dark bedroom.

John undimmed the lights just bright enough for Mary to see the full scale of destruction. She gasped,

"John, he should be in hospital!"

"I know… I don't know what's really going on right now, plus Sherlock hates hospitals so I'm avoiding that as much as possible."

"Jj.. John… Someone else here?" A voice came from under the sheets.

"Sherlock, yes its Mary, my colleague from the clinic I'm working at, she delivered the additional medical supplies, you can trust her."

Sherlock's eyes peered open barely focusing on Mary who's standing at the foot of his bed.

"Thank…You." Sherlock mumbled before shifting his gaze to John who's currently setting up the IV line.

"You are welcome Sherlock." Mary replied softly.

"We should probably change his dressings before attaching the IV, John." Mary then said.

"Right, yes of course. Sherlock can I lift your shirt up to change your dressings?"

Sherlock barely nodded. John quickly changed Sherlock's dressings while Mary gave Sherlock another round of pain and fever medication. John then attached the IV into Sherlock's vein and checked flow, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he saw the transparent fluid flow into Sherlock's vein. Sherlock's eyes never leaving John this whole time. Mary finally broke the silence.

"Looks like you boys can handle yourselves for now, John if you need food or anything call me alright? And Sherlock, you rest, I'll see you soon." Mary said smiling.

"Thank you again Mary, I owe you one."

"Most welcome John, It's okay I know the way out, you stay with him." Mary said before turning and leaving the room.

"I like her…" Sherlock said with a weak smile.

"Hahaha she's nice, go to sleep Sherlock, let the meds do their job, I'll be here when you wake." John said, running his hand through Sherlock's curls.

"Sl…sleep's bor…boring…" Sherlock slurred before the meds took him in.

"Good night Sherlock." John said, a slight smile found its way out.

John settled himself back into the chair, his head resting on his hand. It wasn't for another two hours till John moved from that position. His lips parted.

"Look…uhmm… Listen Sherlock, I don't know how to put this." John said to the sleeping Sherlock.

"I… I was so lost, so confused and so alone after the war. For Christ sake I even had a psychosomatic limp. And then you found me, you saved me and I was happy for the first time in a long time. You were able to help me leave the war behind and move forward. I'm so thankful to have met you. And... and then you were gone and I felt so lost and so alone again and I hate… I hate this feeling so much! Now… now I'm given a second chance and Sherlock I am running out of second chances. Sherlock you… you fight this you stubborn git, I can't make it without you. You fight this… you fight this for me." John said sounding exasperated.

"Okay." A hoarse voice came from the bed.

"I'll fight… I'll fight for you."

John looked up, warm tears flowing down his cheek.

"Thank you."

* * *

Here's a longer and much more emotional chapter, hope you guys enjoy this one :D More updates to come! LEAVE REVIEWS! I LOVE REVIEWS! REVIEWS MAKE MY DAY :D


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